The Djinn's Revenge

Fear is the dagger that slices through your skin, cutting through your chest but stopping just before your heart. Because it wants to hear it beat faster and faster before it wants to hear it beat no more

***

"Arghhgrroahree"

A guttural roar tore through the murky darkness. There was nothing pleasant about that frightening sound. It was almost otherworldly. It would make one claw at their ears in agony, for its ghastly voice seemed to grate at one's soul.

*Pant*

*Pant*

"It's just a dream. Just a dream. Just a …", Alan muttered, evidently trying to convince himself that this wasn't reality. He gripped his trembling hand, his golden locks stuck to his drenched forehead, and bit his lip while his eyes darted around. There was nothing. Vast nothingness engulfed his vision, mocking him for fearing something that didn't seem to exist at all. His breathing became more pronounced and he gripped his hand harder until his fingers were white in an attempt to stop his fear.

*boom*

*boom*

*boom*

Loud footsteps reverberated through the air and they seemed to come from behind him. He froze. He covered his mouth with both his hands in terror, curling up into a ball, and his eyes widened when he felt a presence brush past his back. He instinctively tightened his hands around his mouth lest he let out an accidental whimper that would draw the ire of whatever monstrosity lurked in this accursed abyss.

A low growl sounded, and the footsteps disappeared into the distance a few seconds after that, but to Alan, it felt closer to eternity. He collapsed, his body no longer responding to his desperate pleas while he gasped frantically almost choking on the very air he so longed for.

"Is this it? Will I wake up now?" he wheezed, his bleeding lip accentuating his pale and sickly appearance. He straightened his back, his heart beating out of his chest, and slowly turned around fearing what he might see but all that met his eyes was darkness. He frowned. "It doesn't usually end like this.", he mumbled, confused.

*BANG*

"Arghrrgroarhee!!!"

With an unearthly screech, a vague humanoid figure charged out of the darkness stopping in front of him. It dwarfed him in size, but what was most disturbing was its aspect. Everything about it screamed…wrong. It didn't have a fixed appearance. Eyes, teeth, and tongues grew and vanished, morphing and contorting into nauseating shapes that somehow managed to keep the monster in a humanoid outline. Its countenance was so incredibly revolting, repulsive, and off-putting, that it could drive someone insane. Its eerie tentacles only added to its already loathsome and abominable image.

Alan froze. His mouth hung open and his legs refused to move no matter how much he begged them to. His eyes turned bloodshot; his brain unable to comprehend the monster's vile appearance that only seemed to turn more horrifying by the second. A tentacle as thick as his arm extended, slowly creeping toward him, its swaying motion almost hypnotizing. He watched as the slimy tentacle coiled, storing energy. After which it pounced, wrapping around him, pulling him off his feet. His face reddened as he frantically grabbed at the many tentacles that now wound around his body trapping him in a cold, slimy prison. It was for naught. All he could do was stare at the abomination's ever-increasing eyes that held an emotion that seemed infinitely close to apathy.

***

"Aaaah!!!", Alan woke, clutching his chest. His entire body was trembling, and his mattress was soaked. The feeling of slowly sinking into a slimy abyss made his skin crawl. His teeth chattered and a peculiar taste of iron danced on the tip of his tongue. He frowned and gingerly brought his fingertips to his mouth. It was bleeding. His eyes widened.

'Did I actually bite my lip?'

His visage darkened. His dreams were getting worse, more realistic, and more brutal.

"Mother would worry if she saw this", he sighed as he pushed his hair out of his eyes revealing the ceiling of a spartan house that was made of mud and rocks. Besides a table, two stools, a stack of clothes in the corner, and a stove, there was nothing else. It wasn't comfortable, but it kept the biting cold out.

*BANG*

The door slammed open revealing an old bald man with as many teeth as the strands of hair his gleaming head boasted. His wrinkled face and amicable grin gave him a kindly look.

"This is the fourth night ye've woken with a yell boy! Tell me the truth! Ye've been getting nightmares haven't ya!", the old man spat, his eyes staring at Alan worriedly.

"Old man, how many times have I told you the meaning of privacy. You can't just barge in like this", Alan sighed, massaging his temples.

"Hmph! I can barge into my grandson's room if I want to", the old man hobbled in sitting down next to Alan.

"But I've never once heard mom calling you father", Alan grumbled.

"Hah! Yer my grandson because I said so! Now here have some meat. Ye need ta eat more, yer skinnier than ever!" the old man declared, pulling out a hot rabbit drumstick seemingly out of thin air and grinned, his eyes twinkling.

Alan accepted the drumstick and breathed in the delicious scent.

"I . . . saw a monster, Grandpa Joe. It was throttling me and I couldn't breathe", Alan chomped down on the savory meat and wiped the grease off his lips. "Maybe my body's telling me to watch out for the cold. Winter's coming after all. But that was the first time I saw the damn monster and God! It was…", his voice trailed off, and his palms trembled reflexively, almost dropping the drumstick that warmed his ice-cold hands.

Grandpa Joe frowned, his forehead scrunching up, "That's a nightmare all right, and ye are right about one thing. Fate works in enigmatic ways. Sometimes it'll give us clues in the form of dreams. This isn't a good sign." He looked at Alan with worry before shaking his head. "Yer mother has gone to the market and make sure ye go help her. Don't ye stay here and twiddle yer thumbs."

Alan nodded, licking the bone, now devoid of meat dry. He sprang to his feet, grabbed his grey cloak from the pile of clothes next to him, and ran out of the door, slamming it shut.

Grandpa Joe sighed as he watched Alan leave. He took out his trusty pipe for a smoke and stared at the grimy ceiling. "Fate is cruel indeed", Grandpa Joe mumbled, a puff of smoke escaping his crusty lips. "Yer destined to be great boy, don't ye dare let fate tell ye otherwise."